Darcy and the Demigod
by SwiftintheSky
Summary: Darcy "happens" to be on the Helicarrier during the events of the Avengers and decides to give Loki a piece of her mind. When she goes to Asgard a few months later she visits him again, leading to a series of conversations between the two. T for cursing
1. Chapter 1

"Hey, what are you - "

"Hey!"

"_Coming through!_"

Darcy Lewis pushes her way through the hall, the bright lights overhead reflecting eerily off of her rectangular glasses.

"This area is _heavily_ restricted, ma'am," snarls a guard at the end of the hallway. There are two others beside him, and they are all holding futuristic-looking weapons, the sci-fi big brothers of her taser. She'd love to get her hands on them.

For now, though, she simply holds up a card and says flintily, "I've been given temporary access."

Upon realizing her card is not, in fact, a fake, the guard peers at her incredulously. "How did you - "

"I know someone," she replies imperiously. "Let me in."

He shrugs and unlocks the door.

She steps in and closes it behind her.

She squints for a moment, adjusting to the comparative darkness. Steely grey walls curve overhead. Her eyes are for none of that, however. Her eyes are only for the prisoner.

His cell is bright, circular, made of thick reinforced glass, able to be ejected from the Helicarrier at the push of a button. He has been pacing, it seems, but he halts at her entrance. The medieval-looking garments he wears are not unlike Thor's, but he seems to favor the color green. He has high, narrow cheekbones, slicked-back, dark hair, and electric-blue eyes, burning dangerously cold. He arches one thin eyebrow as she stalks to stand before him, turns, clasps his hands behind his back. He smirks at her, as though she is a child of the merest intelligence. She wants to slap that look off of his attractive face.

"Lewis," he greets her silkily, and that gives her pause. She stares.

"How do you know my name?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten the incident with the Destroyer," he says, the other eyebrow raising with faux surprise.

"Of course not," she growls. _Of course_ she remembers - buildings bursting into flame around her, glass shattering and ricocheting across the pavement, the metallic space robot with its fucking death rays and Thor and his friends fighting and failing, and her screaming and clinging to Jane like a scared little girl. Which she isn't. _At all._

That doesn't explain it, though. Unless the Destroyer had a hidden videocam somewhere on it, which she doubts highly.

She says so.

"It seems possessing magic is more useful than you give it credit for, Lewis," he replies, and then he takes a step forward, eyes narrowing. "Now. Care to tell me why you've come? Fury must know there is no chance I would divulge my secrets to the likes of you, little mortal."

She stands her ground, though she's a bit unnerved; they're separated, now, by only four feet and a glass barrier, and he towers over her by a good nine inches besides. She doesn't show it; looking him square in the eye, she places her hands on her hips, scowls, lifts her chin, and says firmly, "I've come to tell you off."

Loki seems unsure whether or not this is a joke. "...Have you now."

"Uh-huh," is Darcy's unwavering reply. "What, leveling a small town and almost killing your brother wasn't enough for you? How _stupid_ can one guy be?! If there's anything the movies have taught me, it's that aliens invading Earth _always_ fail!" She uses her hands animatedly as she speaks, waving them around, pointing them at him accusingly, and finally planting them back on her hips.

He bristles at her words. "That lumbering brute is _not_ my brother."

"Yeah, yeah, you're adopted, yadda yadda. News flash: on 'Midgard' or whatever the hell you call it, adoption counts!" She makes air quotes at "Midgard", jade eyes flashing as she finishes her speech.

He stiffens, emotions flitting so quickly across his face that she cannot discern any of them. Finally, his gaze darkens and he growls, "I believe you will find it is unwise to bait me, Ms. Lewis. Nor will doing so cause me to reveal anything."

"One: I repeat, I'm not here for fucking information. Two: What do you think you're gonna do to me from inside that cage?" she demands.

"You believe this contraption can hold me?" He eyes her with idle curiosity and surprise. "How... _interesting._"

"Oop, you revealed something!" Darcy exclaims tauntingly.

Loki snorts. "I have revealed nothing. Fury knows the gamble he made bringing me here."

"_Anyway,_" Darcy huffs, green eyes narrowing, "I'm pretty damn _pissed_ at you right now. I don't know what you thought you were doing when you used your glowy control stick on Erik, but that dude's my friend and you _better_ not have fucking harmed him."

"Come to bargain for him? A fruitless endeavor, little girl," Loki says, narrowing his own ice-blue eyes.

"No. What the hell do I have that you'd want? But he better not be hurt, because if he is, Thor's gonna kick your ass double hard," she asserts angrily.

"How much you think you know," he says mockingly. "The Earth will be mine, _fair maiden_ - " these words are spat out like bile - "and none of your precious _Avengers_ will be able to save it. Selvig is mine and I will do with him what I please. In fact, I believe I _will_ harm him. Oh, yes." He gives a dancing smile, knifeblade thin, eyes cold with malice. "I'll kill him and make that friend of yours watch. And _then_ - "

"_Oh yeah!_" Darcy bellows, advancing another step, waving her arms around like birds' wings. He blinks perplexedly, for once the thoughts clear on his face - _Is she not intimidated? Has she no fear? How dare she interrupt me mid-speech_ - but already she launches into another tirade, before he can speak: "That's _another_ reason to be angry with you! They relocated Jane because of you! SHIELD figured you'd try some dumb shit like that, so they whisked her off without a moment's notice, and I have no idea when she'll be back. You ruined my _summer_, you bastard!"

His smirk has not returned. His eyebrows furrow, eyes narrowed as though by searching her with ever-increasing scrutiny he can unlock the reasoning behind her strange behavior. "I - _what?_"

"Yeah. _Mm-hmm_. We were gonna spend the summer together. Now she probably won't even be _back_ by then. _Jerk._"

"You are angry because I... disrupted your summer plans?" The look on his face says he is not sure he got this right, that maybe this is some mortal slang or tradition he doesn't quite understand.

(In another room, where agents are watching the two from ten different angles, there is much laughter and snorting, because this is the longest anyone has kept him confused since he's arrived on the Helicarrier.)

"_Yeah_," she confirms a third time, arms crossed over her chest. "Not to mention you killed a bunch of people, and destroyed a whole facility, and - oh, there was all that crap in Germany. You are _totally_ wasting your sexiness, you know. It's a damn _shame_."

"My..." He is staring at her, and if he squints any further his eyes will be screwed shut. He draws back, then, wipes the confusion from his face, and regards her with an irritated scowl. "You are trying to confuse me."

"Not at all," she insists. "You are hot, man, and you are wasting that potential. I'd be totally into you if you weren't, oh, you know, a _delusional homicidal maniac!_"

"You find me... attractive. And you are telling me this while yelling obscenities at me?" His eyes are getting a wide, disbelieving look to them. Like maybe this mortal is one tree short of a forest.

She shrugs sulkily, clutching her arms tighter to her chest. "Well I'm not gonna _lie_ about that. But anyway, I also came because I'm really curious. I read the - "

"I've already told you, mortal, you will get no information from me," he tells her, but the words have no bite to them this time, no poison, because his mind, it seems, is still trying to process her and her impossible attitude, her inexplicable words.

"I mean," she continues smoothly, "how much of the myths are true. Haven't got a chance to ask Thor yet, he's _'busy'_. Did they really happen? For example, the thing with the wall and Sleipnir, and all that crap you supposedly got the dwarves to make, and Mjolnir getting stolen, and - "

He stiffens. His eyes are certainly wide now. Wide and a little wild. "How do you know about that?" he demands harshly, taking another step forward. He can take one more and then he'll be right up against the glass. "Did _Thor_ - "

"I've already told you," she retorts impatiently, "the _myths_."

"_What_ myths?!"

"Norse mythology! You know, the Vikings? They have plenty of stories from when the Aesir were on Earth. Survived all the way to the modern age. Those myths are full of _weird_, fucked-up shit, so I thought I'd ask you if they really happened."

"Does Thor know of them?" he asks. He seems to be on the verge of pacing.

She doesn't know why this has upset him so. "I don't think so."

They watch each other warily, and for the first time since Darcy's arrival, there is a moment of silence.

"Obviously some of them are true," she ventures, surveying him, "I guess it's not surprising you'd react like that, considering you basically always lose."

"Oh, _do_ I," he growls. His eyes are narrowing dangerously.

She is not fazed, but then she hasn't been, not the entire conversation. "Well, yeah. If they're true, I'm just surprised you didn't flip your lid earlier."

And they're watching each other again, because he doesn't know what she knows, and she doesn't know what's real and is therefore likely to cause him to blow a gasket if she brings it up.

"And why is that?" he asks, a bit roughly.

"Well," she begins, and for the first time she sounds cautious, "no offense but in the myths the rest of Asgard basically treats you like shit."

It's a long time before he answers, but he seems to be practically crushing his hands in each other's grasp, and his entire body is tense. "...Do they now."

"Yeah, though you're kind of a prick so you kind of deserve it but _damn_ that stuff is harsh - and y'know, asking rhetorical questions over and over is a really lazy way of not giving anything away!" she flashes back hotly.

"That is true," he admits, sounding not a hair calmer, "but then I was unaware until now that my history is on public display to the citizens of Midgard."

"Not all of it," she says helpfully. "And you won't tell me anything, so I don't know how much of it is true."

"Seek your answers elsewhere, mortal," he hisses.

"Will you answer one question?" she asks, sounding hopeful, "because I'm interesting?"

"No. Leave me," he snaps.

"Last time I checked, you're a prisoner. This isn't your private suite," Darcy responds flatly. "But I can't make you answer me, so - "

" - you most _certainly_ cannot, Lewis - "

" - so I guess I'll try to annoy Thor instead."

The eye each other for one long moment more.

"I think you should give up before you get your ass handed to you," she says casually, "and not waste your good looks on _evil_. But that's just me. Adios."

And with that she flounces to the door, Loki's ice-blue gaze burning holes in her shoulders all the way.

"Goodbye, Lewis," he mutters as the door closes behind her.

That was decidedly... _different_, if nothing else.

He has a lot to think about.

* * *

**I was originally going to add more detail to this, but it never happened, so I finally decided to post it. What did you think? It was meant to be a oneshot, but now I'm thinking of continuing it with more Darcy and Loki conversations...**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I have decided to continue this! In lieu of that decision, I've renamed the story from "Darcy Meets a Demigod" to "Darcy and the Demigod". I think this turned out as well as Chapter One, if not better. And yes, I do plan to continue the story beyond Chapter Two. :)**

* * *

"Well, this is a pretty nice, um, cell," Darcy comments, eyes roving about the room. The floor is layered with smooth, cool tile, and sharply edged stairs, three steps, lead up to what appears to be a panel of glass. Everything is white, shockingly so, enough to make her squint. Inside the cell itself is a bed. A desk. A chair. A fireplace, crackling gently. But it is not so different, in atmosphere, from the cage on the Helicarrier.

And there he is, Loki, sitting at the edge of the bed. The last time she saw him he was bedecked in extravagant Asgardian battle gear, dark hair slicked back, an infuriating smirk upon his pale face. Now, though, he is clothed simply - though still in green, she notes - and his hair is longer, in straggly, loose curls. Dark shadows pool under his eyes, which widen in shock, eyebrows arching at her entry.

"...Lewis," he manages, standing. (He is, however, just as unfairly tall.)

She raises her own eyebrows. "Whoa. Scissors not allowed in Loki jail?" Because _damn_, that hair. She guesses it looks good. In its own way. But it's _different_; she almost feels like pouting at the loss of the fabulous hairstyle he had worn on Earth.

"How did you reach Asgard? And how did you gain access to my cell?" His brow is furrowed, lips twisted in a frown.

"I have connections," she informs him, just as she had before, already enjoying herself. He needs another talking-to, most definitely. And an I-told-you-so. She can skip the yelling this time, considering it doesn't involve anyone she _knows_, but -

"Thor." The name excapes his lips in an exasperated sigh, green eyes darkening at the thought of - wait.

Green?

She could've sworn they were blue... shockingly, electric blue...

Well. It _had_ been three months. She's probably just remembering incorrectly.

"Yes, Thor," she sweetly responds, shaking off her confusion. "I'm sure he's already lectured you plenty, but - "

"He hasn't," Loki says shortly.

She's taken off balance for a moment, surveying him as though maybe she can detect a lie (ha, as if). Finally she rebounds with a bright, "Well, then you need this even more!"

"You've come to mock me, then," he states, eyeing her with - is that disappointment? "I expected more of you, Lewis."

"Not exactly," she disagrees, pouting. "I _totally_ warned you, you know. If you had taken my advice - "

"I'd still be locked in this cell, but I'd have gone down without a fight. Yes, yes. You're _quite_ clever," is Loki's reply, voice suddenly hard-edged, cutting, condescending.

_Still hasn't gotten over the loss, eh?_

"There are a lot of people upset about you killing Agent iPod Thief," she accuses, shaking a reprimanding finger at him. "He's the one who let me in to see you on the Helicarrier, you know."

"And which would that be? I recall killing several," he replies impassively, sounding nearly bored.

"When you broke out of the Helicarrier. He threatened you with a gun," she answers, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest. She technically wasn't supposed to know that, but Jane rushed to New York in search of Thor (Darcy's summer wasn't ruined after all, they didn't have much work in Tromso for Jane anyway). She was subsequently invited to spend the night in Stark Towers - and that's how Darcy got ot tag along (she always did) and meet superheroes, and see a lot of nice ass, and annoy everyone, even JARVIS. And, well, apparently superheroes aren't immune to the temptation of drinks (except Cap, poor bastard) and Darcy asked about a hundred thousand questions in this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and got the answers to nearly all of them. Of course, she had to ask _that_ question, and get locked out of the floor for an hour until she convinced JARVIS to let her in. After which she flopped on a couch and avoided eye contact with half of the room for the rest of the night, and drank extremely expensive alcoholic drinks until Jane pried the glass from her hand and shoved her into a bed.

But that's all beside the point. She knows how Coulson died.

"Ah, _that_ one." Loki leans back with a mirthless flash of teeth. "I could hardly allow him to shoot me with that abomination of a weapon, could I? And if he was responsible for your entry, why, that's just another reason to merit his death."

"Oh, come on. We had fun," she disagrees. Part of her bridles at his tone, but she didn't know Coulson well and was only mildly disheartened to hear of his demise. Despite being a filthy iPod thief, though, he had seemed quite badass, and the Avengers had high opinions of him. It seemed fitting, then, that he had gone out in a blaze of glory.

"You may have enjoyed yourself, but you cannot speak for me," Loki retorts. His eyes narrow menacingly, but with that straggly hair, the simple clothing and the insomnia clinging to him like a second skin, he doesn't seem very menacing at all.

"Naw. You loved it," she insists teasingly. "It must have been boring in there. And if it weren't for me you'd still have no idea that pretty much everyone on Earth knows your darkest secrets."

She still hasn't had the myths explained to her, and is going to take every shot until she has. Thor was quite confused when she mentioned them - and after he read the webpages she directed to him, well. He looked vaguely disturbed and refused to speak another word about them. Jane doesn't support her endless nagging of Thor for him to change his mind, and so that option seems pretty well closed off for her.

"_Everyone_," he echoes flatly. "I doubt that, Lewis." Despite the lack of emotion in his voice, she notices a nearly imperceptible stiffening of his shoulders. This will require advanced strategy, she can tell. Unfortunately, exactly _what_ strategy she doesn't know.

"Not _everyone_, I suppose. One in ten, maybe?" she guesses. She really has no idea how many people have read the old myths, but it's probably lower than one in ten. But there's no way she's letting _him_ know that. "Come on, though. You have to thank me for that."

"I cannot conceive of any realm in which I would _thank_ you," he disagrees, and he's beginning to get that irritated and/or puzzled look again, the one he got on the Helicarrier, the one that follows her everywhere.

She's practically the patron goddess of that look.

Most people end the conversation at this point. Walk away in disgust, or irritation. She hasn't met anyone who can keep up with her as well as Loki can since Stark - and then she was keeping up with him more than he was with her (a feeling she's had with so few people she can count them on one hand). Jane isn't included in either of these lists, because she ignores at least half of what Darcy says, and the Asgardians - er, Aesir - have been less than appreciative of her.

This is refreshing.

She doesn't mind the eye candy, either, and if he seems slightly less unhinged than he did on the Helicarrier, all the better!

"What if I saved your life?" she asks simply.

He chuckles dryly and paces a few steps closer to his bed, hands clasped momentarily behind his back. "Nor can I conceive of any realm in which _that_ would transpire."

"I can," she insists. "What if you were attacking Earth for some reason, and you were defeated, of course - " he scowls at this - "and I used my extreme convincing skills to get me in the same car as you? And then you were unconscious or had no magic, and the car went over a cliff or got attacked, or something, and I pulled you out?"

He frowns sourly. "Amusing, Lewis, but highly unlikely."

She frowns back. "I never said it was likely. But, really. Would you?"

It takes him a second or two to realize what she's asking, and then his frown deepens. "I'd more likely stab you in the ribs. Now are you quite _satisfied_, Lewis?"

Hers does as well. "No. Because that'd be pointless. I mean, you could kill me with your hands tied behind your back, so why bother?"

"I do not _have_ to have a point," he snarls, before regaining composure, "but if I were to kill someone, I'd kill them sooner, rather than later. Wouldn't you?" Another so-called smile.

"Yeah, I guess I would," she says, pausing for a moment's reflection. (This doesn't seem to be the response he expected.) Then she persists doggedly: "But you wouldn't have a knife, anyway. They'd have taken it."

"If anything is pointless, it is this line of reasoning," is his harsh reponse.

"Okay, okay, fine." She holds up her hands in mock defeat. "But maybe you're not as smart as I thought you were. Because if _I_ were a mass-murdering would-be overlord, _I_ wouldn't stab a potential ally."

"An ally," he repeats dryly, as though he's given up even trying to figure her out.

"_Potential_ ally," she corrects herself. "If you played your cards right."

"In your proposed scenario, I would not have the _time_ to 'play my cards right'," answers Loki, eyes narrowing. "It would be a far less risky endeavor to stab you."

"Well, yeah," she admits. "But you could use me as a hostage. And then hope I got Stockholm's, I suppose." When he hesitates for a moment, she helpfully supplies, "Stockholm's is when a captive starts to care for their captor."

His sour look lets her know he hates to miss a beat. "Again, unlikely. And there can't be many who would care for _your_ fate."

This hits a bit closer to home than she would like. "Jane would! And Erik, and my family, and anyone who's a decent person!" She pauses, then adds emphatically, "And Thor!"

As it always does, the mention of his brother seems to anger Loki. His tone is more acidic than it has been their entire conversation. "All the _more_ reason to stab you, then."

"You know, I don't really understand why you hate him so much," Darcy wonders thoughtfully, ignoring both his anger and the abrupt change of subject. This is something she has thought about on multiple occasions, and the one time there came an appropriate opportunity to ask Thor about it, his reply was a sorrowful, "I would give much to know myself."

Loki's expression contorts, flickering swiftly through emotions - as it had during their last conversation - but before he can say anything she continues, slightly accusing, "As far as I can tell he's only tried to make up with you since you attacked him in New Mexico, and you've been friends your whole lives, and he had nothing to do with you being adopte - "

"SILENCE!" he shouts.

It's the first time she's heard him raise his voice, and she's so startled she does exactly as he says.

"I have no need to explain myself to the likes of you," he snarls. "You think you're so clever, don't you? You're not. If you were _clever_, you'd have companions. If you were _clever_, you would be liked, and not left like the hopeless fool you are. If you were _clever_, you wouldn't be speaking to _me_. I suppose not even _Foster_ can stand you, now that she's found more preferable company?"

There's a roaring in her ears. It takes a moment for it to all sink in. And there are so many thoughts clamoring in her mind - _he's wrong, he's manipulating you, don't rise to it, how did he know how could he KNOW?_ - but most of all there's a rising anger, burning through her like flame.

"Oh _YEAH?_ I guess you're not so clever EITHER, then!" she shouts, stepping forward, arms wheeling angrily. "I don't recall YOU having any friends in the myths, HUH? No one trusts the Liesmith! No one wanted to help YOU when your plan about the wall failed! No one wanted to help YOU when you pissed off the dwarves! As far as I can tell, Thor was your only friend, so if you're so CLEVER, why'd you drop him off a plane to die?!"

They're a foot away from each other. Her fists come to rest clenched by her sides, green eyes flashing, teeth gritted in a defiant scowl. He is frozen. His eyes are wide, his breath is ragged. He can't decide whether to be shocked or furious.

He isn't answering.

"What are you gonna do _now_, huh?" she hisses. "Stab me?"

And then he does the last thing she expects.

He laughs.

He throws back his head and laughs, long and loud, he walks slowly to his bed and collapses to sit there as though he isn't in control of his legs. He keeps laughing, he laughs as she gapes open-mouthed until he sputters down into bitter chuckles. With one last exhalation of breath he locks eyes with her and speaks, deathly quiet, dangerously still: "Perhaps you are more clever than I thought, Lewis. But knowing people's secrets doesn't make them _like_ you, now does it?"

And there is more behind those words. There is the weight of experience. But Darcy doesn't hear that now. She hears the malice. She feels her veins coursing red, coursing hot. She feels the infuriating barrier of a stalemate, feels her nails digging into her palms, forming pink half-moons. She spins on her heel, she stalks out of the room.

And for once in her life, Darcy Lewis does not get the last word.


End file.
